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Brett watched the taillights of his Pathfinder disappear into the darkness. He leaned his forehead against the aspen. He’d lost that battle. If only she understood the danger she was in.
She had a target on her back, and every law officer in the state would be aiming for it.
Chapter Ten
Dania pulled into the QuickMart Gas and Grub and parked between two semis. She chuckled a little as the image of Brett handcuffed to the tree and the astonished look on his face came to her.
Brett’s cell phone went off. He’d left it attached to the cord in the cup holder. The name on the display said Gabriel Jefferson. That could be Brett’s boss. She ignored the call. As soon as she was finished with what she needed to do here, she’d call and let this Gabriel person know where to find Brett.
She glanced at the blue-and-silver semi beside her door. Truckers frequented Quick Mart Gas and Grub because their stores offered showers, food, and parking for the night. This was the perfect place to work on a disguise. They very well might have hair dye of some kind. And scissors shouldn’t be too hard to track down.
Opening the glove box, she stored Brett’s weapons inside. Then she counted the bills she’d taken from his wallet—four twenties, five tens, five fives, and eight ones. She had enough to buy a shower, supplies, something warm to eat and still have money to spare. Brett’s marshal’s Stetson lay on the passenger seat, and she picked it up now. There was no badge or marking on it, so she wrapped her hair into a twist and tugged the hat on over it.
She hurried from the car into the building. A few customers were sprinkled around the grocery area. Near the register stood the newsstand, where copies of the newspaper showed the picture of her son in her father-in-law’s arms. She put her hand over her heart where she’d placed the picture she’d torn from Brett’s paper. As soon as she felt safe, she planned to study it and soak in the image of her little boy.
A small TV near the ceiling played an old Western. A bleached-blonde clerk with dagger-like nails and a smoker’s cough wore a name tag that read Aloma. She stood at the register, joking with a couple of truckers.
Dania ducked past them and scanned the aisles. The store had everything from disposable diapers to motor oil, with a good dose of snack foods in between. But she couldn’t see hair dye. She glanced at the register. The truckers had left. The clerk stood at the till splitting her time between the TV and keeping her eye on Dania.
What must she think? If Dania didn’t handle this right, this woman could be her downfall. Screwing courage to her backbone, Dania walked up to the clerk. “I’d like to buy a shower, but I also need hair dye and scissors.”
“You on the run, darlin’?” Aloma’s heavily mascaraed eyes studied Dania’s bruised forehead and trailed to her rumpled and dirty clothes. “Some dirtbag beat you up?”
Dania nodded, grateful the woman hadn’t recognized her.
“My second husband, Bobby”—Aloma shivered—“he was a mean drunk. Used to come home angry as a constipated skunk and beat the sass right out of me. I had my fill of that and ran away. That was ten years ago, and I never looked back.” Her head tilted, and an empathetic smile tugged at her red lips. “Let me show you where we keep the hair color, doll. Don’t have a big selection.” She pushed up the countertop, stepped through, then closed it again. She studied Dania’s face. “Does that bump on your forehead hurt?”
“Not much.”
“Well, we have all sorts of over-the-counter pain pills. Long haulers are usually fighting headaches of some kind.” She grabbed scissors and handed them to her. “What color are you thinking of doing? Purple, pink, orange? You wouldn’t believe what I see parading through this store. In the summer, it’s like a rainbow parade of hair in here.”
Dania glanced over the shelves where she stood. “What do you suggest?”
“Not everyone can pull off blonde.” Aloma clucked her tongue and grabbed a box of red hair dye. “I think this would go with your complexion and be enough to throw off the lowlife that gave you that bump.”
Dania didn’t argue. She gave the woman, who had thought up the perfect cover without even knowing her, a grateful nod.
“There are small bars of soap you can buy in the shower area. And you can rent a fresh towel. Just leave some money in the jar.” She gave her an empathetic smile.
“Thanks, Aloma.”
“I forgot to ask, what’s your name?” Aloma studied her.
Dania didn’t know what to say. She hated lying to people but saw no way around it. “Sarah.”
“Okay, Sarah.” She went to the next aisle and pointed to a small selection of clothes. “You might want some clean clothes too. Something that fits a little better.”
“Thank you.” Dania looked at the sizes and found a small sweatshirt but couldn’t find jeans in a size six. She grabbed a size eight, which was big but much better than what she had on.
“No need to thank me. I know you’re on the run, but make no mistake, I’m charging you for those overpriced items. If you can’t pay now, I’ll set up a tab. I’ll get Jimmy, our grill cook, to make you a nice juicy cheeseburger. You look like you need one. At $4.99, it comes with all the fries you can eat and a drink.” She gave her a wink and headed toward the register just as a customer came in.
Dania rushed to the back of the store near the rear exit, where a sign read Showers Y’all. She hurried through. A plump woman dressed in only underpants and a frayed bra that looked as though it would burst gave her a nod as she pulled a sweatshirt with the words “In it for the long haul” over her head. Her short hair made her face look as round as a basketball.
Dania set her things on a changing table. She slipped off her shoes and put a couple of dollars in the cup by the stack of towels.
The woman yanked her pants on, then sat down to put on her boots. “Where you headed?”
Dania said the first thing that came to mind. “Yellowstone.”
